


Convenient

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Needs To Use His Words, Didn't Know They Were Dating, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows what he is to Derek: convenient. He knows that Derek isn't looking for a relationship, just someone to have casual sex with. Which is why Stiles is so surprised to find Derek setting up a romantic dinner for Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love reading miscommunication trope stories, where at least one of the pair doesn't realise that the other one is in love with them. So I figured it was time to try writing one of my own. 
> 
> This is going to be quite a short fic by my standards and I'll be posting a chapter a day until Valentine's Day.

Friday was Valentine’s Day. Stiles couldn’t escape from that fact. Restaurants in town were decorated in pink roses. People were picking cards out of their lockers. And Scott had been going on for almost a month about his plans for his date with Kira. Stiles endured school, where no one could shut up about Valentine’s Day all week. He spent the whole time hearing date plans on all side from at least half of the student population, and told himself that this year would be better for him. At least he wouldn’t be alone on Valentine’s Day this year. 

Because Valentine’s Day was a Friday this year. And Friday was his night with Derek. They had a routine, a simple enough one but one which worked for them. Stiles would show up at Derek’s place straight from school and make a start on his homework. When he couldn’t take it anymore, they’d have sex. Then Derek would call for take-out and they’d watch something on TV while they ate. Then they’d have sex again. It was about as romantic as a dead possum, but it worked. And having two rounds of sex with a smoking hot guy was definitely better than spending Valentine’s Day alone. 

But still, Stiles saw Scott presenting Kira with a bunch of roses and a handmade card, and he felt a stab of jealousy. Not over Kira. Definitely not over Scott. But over the roses. 

He told himself for the thousandth time that he’d known what he was getting into with Derek. Roses weren’t part of the routine. The routine was sex and take-out. It worked for them. It got rid of the simmering sexual tension that had been between them and let them achieve a state that, in poor lighting, could be mistaken for friendship. Stiles knew what he was to Derek. He’d known since the start of their, whatever the hell they were. Stiles knew that Derek was with him simply because he was convenient. 

Stiles wasn’t going to let a little bitterness and jealousy get in between him and awesome sex, so he got in his jeep and drove over to Derek’s after school like he usually did. He left his bag in the car, thinking that maybe he could skip the homework tonight and try for three rounds of sex instead. He needed to do something to forget those roses. 

He headed up the stairs and reached Derek’s loft, opening the door without bothering with knocking. Derek would have heard him coming anyway. He let himself in and then stared in confusion at the table by the window. That table was usually used only when they had battles to plan for or occasionally by Stiles for his homework, but now there was a cloth on it, and cutlery, and even candles. What the hell were candles doing on the table? 

“Hi, Stiles,” Derek said, walking into the room from the direction of the bathroom. Stiles was still staring at the table. 

“Candles. There are candles.” 

“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.” 

“Why are there candles?” 

“It’s Valentine’s Day.” 

Derek looked awkward, almost embarrassed. He stood there in the middle of the loft, just looking at Stiles for a moment, and then he looked away, staring at walls and floor and anything but Stiles. He walked past him towards the kitchen corner. He clearly didn’t know what to say now. 

But Stiles could figure a few things out. It was Valentine’s Day and Derek was hot enough that he probably got hit on a dozen times just going to get groceries. He’d probably got a date, a real date, and now he didn’t know how to tell Stiles to get lost. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, hoping he sounded casual, “if you have a Valentine’s Day date with some hot girl, you could have just texted and I’d have known to stay away.” 

So a lonely evening for one and a family size tub of ice cream looked like it was on the cards tonight. Except that Derek gave him the look that said that Stiles was being an idiot. Stiles got that look quite often when he made a bad joke. It was as familiar as their routine. Derek seemed to shrug his statement off like a joke and he went to the fridge. 

“Drink?” he asked. That was as close to an invitation to stay as Stiles ever got. 

“Sure. Soda.” 

Derek got a can out of the fridge and handed it over. Stiles held the can but didn’t open it yet. There was still something weird about this whole situation. 

“No homework tonight?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, but I’ll do it tomorrow. Doesn’t seem right on Valentine’s Day.” 

Derek nodded and then went to his oven. He stared at the controls like a guy trying to translate ancient hieroglyphics. 

“Are you actually cooking dinner?” Stiles asked. 

Derek gave him another of those stop-being-an-idiot looks. 

“I’m not going to poison you for Valentine’s Day,” he said. “I got some stuff from the Italian on Main and I’m just going to warm it up.” 

“I didn’t know they did take out.” 

“I was persuasive.” 

“Did you threaten people so we could get nice food?” 

“Not... explicitly.” 

Stiles could picture Derek glaring the restaurant staff into submission until they served him their delicious food in take-out containers so that they could have something better than usual for tonight. He gave a little snort of laughter at the mental picture. Derek looked hurt. 

“Sorry,” said Stiles. “I was just picturing you all growly-eyebrowed demanding nice food.” 

“How could my eyebrows growl?” 

“You’d find a way.” 

Derek turned away from the oven and went back to Stiles, who was still standing in the middle of the loft, somewhat bewildered. He was fidgeting with the soda can. Enough so that opening it now would probably be a disaster as it was all shaken up. Stiles put the can down on the coffee table and fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie instead. 

“Are you OK?” Derek asked. 

The level of bewilderment just shot up. Derek acting all concerned was weird. Stiles wondered if he should be on the look-out for mind-altering magic. The seemed a lot more plausible than candles and nice food. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know. You just seem weird about this.” Derek jerked a head towards the table and the candles. “Do you mind that I did this?” 

“Do I mind that I’m going to get better food than usual this week? Of course not. It just caught me by surprise is all. Candlelit dinner, table cloth. It’s almost like a date.” 

Derek gave him a sharp look, confused and hurt in the same instant. 

“It is a date,” he said. 

It was a bit off for Derek to look hurt at that. It wasn't like they ever did dates. How was Stiles to know to expect it? Still, there was something sad written on Derek’s face now, and Stiles felt bad that he was the one who put it there. He tried to backtrack quickly, to get things back to something resembling normal so that they could have fun. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess the candles should have given me a clue. It’s just surprising. I mean, we don’t really do that.” 

“Do what?” Derek asked. 

“Dates.” 

“We have a date every Friday.” 

“No, we have sex every Friday.” 

“We have dinner too.” 

“And that constitutes a date in your world?” Stiles asked. 

Derek looked hurt again. That hadn’t been the intention. Stiles had been trying to get things back to a happy place again. He needed to do better at this. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “This is coming out all wrong. It’s just... different, OK? I always knew where I stood with you and candlelit Italian dinners weren’t part of the equation. I’m not complaining or anything. I’m just surprised.” 

Derek hadn’t moved all the while Stiles said that. He was still staring at Stiles, that hurt expression on his face. 

“You don’t think what we’ve been doing is dating?” Derek asked. 

“Well, no, but that’s OK. I knew coming into this that it was never going to be flowers and romance. It was just... sex.” 

The hurt expression faded from Derek’s face, but someone that was almost worse because it was replaced with a blankness, like he was shutting his emotions away deep inside. Stiles hadn’t realised how much more Derek showed what he felt lately until it was gone, that face an impassive mask that gave nothing away. Stiles knew he must have said something awful, but he couldn’t think what. After all, Derek was the one who’d set the terms of what they had. 

“You think this is just sex?” Derek asked. 

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said. “That’s what we said. Someone convenient to have sex with, right?” 

Derek’s face was showing emotion again, but it was anger this time. Hard, cold fury set his jaw. 

“Get out,” Derek said. 

Stiles took a step towards him, “Derek, if you want to change how we are then – “

“Get out!” Derek yelled, the words leaving his mouth as a roar of fury. Stiles stumbled back, heart racing. He didn’t think Derek would ever hurt him, not really, but there was still something terrifying about that expression, about the animal rage. 

“Derek, just – “ 

“Out!” It was a definite roar that time, with power behind it that seemed to shake the room. Stiles decided that this wasn’t the time to have any sort of calm and rational discussion. He fled. 

He pelted down the stairs and out to his jeep. Only when he got there did the racing fear subside to pain. He felt like he must have done something terrible. He’d rarely seen Derek look that hurt and Stiles knew he was the source of that pain and that was awful to consider. But he still didn’t understand what he’d done wrong. Derek was the one who’d said he only wanted convenient sex. Stiles had spent two months feeling miserable that that was as good as it was going to get for him, and Derek had the nerve to get angry when Stiles was surprised to get something more. 

Derek wasn’t the one who should be angry here. Stiles was the one who felt like someone had yanked the floor out from under him and left him floundering with no support. He didn’t understand what was happening. He didn’t understand how he’d screwed up.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles got home and slumped into the house, his bag dangling from his hand. He might as well get on with his homework. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do tonight. As Stiles headed for the stairs, his dad came out of the kitchen, obviously confused. 

“You not at Derek’s tonight?” he asked. 

“No,” Stiles tried to think about how to explain what had happened. “He had dinner plans.” 

“Without you?” If anything, the surprised note in his dad’s voice became more so. 

“No. He had plans with me, but I think I screwed them up and I’m not even sure what I did.” 

“Maybe you should start from the top. What happened?” 

Stiles let his bag fall from his grasp and he sat down on the stairs, trying to get everything to make sense in his head. The problem was it clearly went back before tonight. 

“This thing I have with Derek,” Stiles started. He stopped. “I can’t have this conversation with you.” 

“Well you clearly need to talk to someone. Maybe you should call Scott.” 

“No. He’s got big plans with Kira and he’s been putting this date together for a month. I can’t interrupt him for bro stuff tonight.” 

Stiles flopped back against the stairs. It was an uncomfortable position, but somehow strangely comforting. The edges of the steps digging into his back grounded him in the physical, in things he could feel and touch, unlike the intangible weirdness there had been with Derek. 

“OK,” his dad said. “How about if I promise that I will listen and not judge? And that I won’t use any of this for fodder for embarrassing wedding toasts in the future? And if I promise that, no matter what you say, I won’t go after Derek with a shotgun full of wolfsbane? Would that make it easier for you to talk to me?” 

Stiles sat up again and looked up at his dad. He needed to talk about this to someone because everything was such a huge muddle in his head. 

“I’ll hold you to the no-judging thing,” Stiles said. His dad swiped a finger across his chest in a heart-crossing gestured. Stiles sighed and tried to figure out where to start. 

“So,” he said, “this thing with Derek’s been going on a couple of months now.” 

“Yes,” his dad said, “and I think I’ve been exceedingly calm about it given the age difference and the fact that he’s capable of sprouting claws and eviscerating you.” 

“Right. Well, it started after his break-up with Braeden. I asked him why they broke up and he said that she was after a relationship but all he was looking for was someone convenient to have sex with and that he was never going to give her what she actually wanted. And then he asked me back to his place to have sex. I mean, not _then_ then. It was a couple of days later, but still. And so that’s what we did. I know it’s not exactly a fairytale romance, but at it beats one night stands with total strangers and it’s fun and it...” 

Stiles fell silent. He flopped back against the stairs again, a little too hard this time. He was probably going to end up with bruises across the middle of his back from the edge of the steps. He could almost feel his dad judging him, promise or no promise. 

“It what?” his dad prompted. 

“It was better than not getting to be with him at all.” 

There was a painful silence. Stiles had never really talked about what was going on between him and Derek. Frankly, he thought he and his dad were both happier not going into details. It was strange to put it all out in the open now. 

“You let him use you for sex,” his dad said. There was anger in his tone. Stiles was glad he’d gotten the promise about shotguns. He sat up again and looked his dad in the eye. 

“No,” Stiles said. “It’s not like that. You make it sound like he... Just no. He was nice. I mean, Derek nice, not actual nice nice. But he was completely upfront about what he wanted and it’s not like he led me on or anything. I knew exactly what I was getting I just...” 

“You wanted the fairytale.” 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not the most romantic guy in the world, but a little romance would be nice. I wanted it to be... I want it to be real.” 

There was silence again, with Stiles sitting there, his emotions exposed for the first time. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about this, not even Scott. He’d just got on with making the best of things, accepting what he could get and trying to be grateful for it. 

But he’d never really accepted it. He’d started having fantasies. Not sexual fantasies. He’d had those long before this arrangement with Derek had started. Since the first time Derek had pressed him up against his bedroom door, Stiles had fantasied about Derek in bed. But when they’d started their Friday night arrangement, Stiles had started having fantasies of domesticity. He’d started imagining what it would be like to wake up next to Derek, or cook a meal for him, or go for a walk, or hang out somewhere other than Derek’s loft, or bake cookies. Stiles had started wondering what it would be like to celebrate birthdays and holidays together. He’d imagined candlelit dinners with Derek, but he’d never dared put those thoughts into words because he knew it had been something he would never get. 

Until tonight. When Derek had laid the table and set candles on it. And a part of Stiles had wondered if he’d just been imagining the whole thing. 

“So what happened tonight?” his dad asked. 

“There were candles.” 

“Candles?” 

“Yeah. He’d set the table with candles, and he’d got nicer food. He said he wanted to do something because of Valentine’s Day. And I was surprised because, well he’s Derek and Derek doesn’t do this stuff. It’s not part of the routine. And then he got mad that I was surprised and then he kicked me out.” 

“He kicked you out?” 

“Yeah. Literally roared at me to get out.” 

“Because you just acted surprised that he wanted a nice dinner?” 

“Yeah. And I tried to explain that I was just surprised because up until now it’s only been about the sex.” 

Stiles remembered that he was talking to his dad and cringed a little at that. His dad had him locked in a serious gaze and Stiles wished Scott were available to talk to. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with his dad, ever. 

“You told Derek that it was only about sex?” his dad asked. “After he tried to give you a candlelit dinner?” 

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad.” 

“And that’s when he got angry and kicked you out?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well,” his dad said after a moment, “it’s been my experience that people often use anger to cover up feeling hurt. The way it seems to me, Derek tried to show you a romantic gesture and he thinks you rejected him. And now he’s upset.” 

“That’s... That’s not the way it was.” Stiles didn’t sound very confident as he said that. He hadn’t meant it that way. He’d just been caught off guard. But hearing his dad say that made sense. Derek had looked so hurt. Maybe he had been trying for romance, trying to shift the dynamic of their... whatever it was they had. But he could have just said that. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault he’d been surprised and confused. 

“There are a few things you need to consider,” his dad went on. “You like Derek.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Stiles said, “Yeah,” anyway. 

“And he clearly likes you.” Stiles started to interrupt, but his dad held up a hand and continued, “Stiles, people don’t arrange candlelit dinners for someone unless they like them. So you like him and he likes you. There is only one question that matters right now: are you interested in a relationship with Derek Hale?” 

Stiles started laughing because he thought of all those idle daydreams. All those moments when he’d wondered what it would be like to have breakfast together, or go to a concert, or just curl up on the couch with a book together. He wanted it so badly he’d sometimes wondered if he was bordering on obsessional. 

“I take it that’s a yes,” his dad said. 

“Yeah, I’m interested in a relationship with Derek.” 

“Then go tell him that.” 

“But what if tonight was just a fluke? Just a Valentine’s Day thing? And he doesn’t actually want anything like that?” 

“Stiles, you are never going to be happy if you want something different from the person you are with. If you want a relationship and he doesn’t, then whatever you have is not going to be healthy long-term. So go talk to him. Tell him what you want. If he doesn’t want the same thing, then you’ll come home and you’ll cry and you’ll eat cookie dough and you’ll hate me for telling you to talk to him. But then you’ll deal with it, and you’ll find someone else who wants the same thing as you and you’ll be happy with them instead. Or you might find that Derek was opening up to you tonight and that he wants to be with you. That possibility is worth taking the risk of getting hurt.” 

“Or I could just go and hide under my blankets forever?” 

“Stiles, if you don’t talk to Derek, you will spend the rest of your life wondering and second-guessing what might have happened. Go.” 

He pointed to the door. 

He was right, of course. Stiles needed to get things out in the open with Derek. He needed to know what those candles really meant. Stiles stood and walked back out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles spent the drive back to Derek’s place trying to work out what he was going to say and imagining Derek’s possible responses. He had whole imagined arguments inside his head, trying to guess what Derek might say. He worked himself up into a state of frantic panic by the time he parked his jeep and headed back into the building. What if Derek hadn’t meant anything by the candles? What if he was still angry? What if he didn’t want to see Stiles ever again? 

Stiles wanted to go in there and be calm and rational, but it seemed more and more unlikely with every passing moment. He huffed his way up the stairs and decided he was just going to go inside and say his piece before he could lose his nerve. He wasn’t going to be put off or stopped. He wasn’t going to be cowed by Derek’s formidable eyebrows. He was going to lay everything out and see how Derek took it. And then probably go home and cry if any of the conversations he’d imagined in his head ended up happening. 

Stiles flung open the door and walked in. The place was back to normal. No candles in sight. There was just Derek, glowering at him. 

“I’ve got some things I need to say,” Stiles said, “and I’m going to say them because otherwise I might not say them. And that sentence made a lot more sense in my head.” 

Stiles paced back and forth a little, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. For all his practice in the car, this was harder than he expected. 

“You and me,” he continued, “we have a pattern, a routine. We have things that we do and things that we don’t do. And candlelit dinners are definitely in the don’t pile. Not that I’m saying that they have to be, just that they have been up until now. And if you want to move them to the do pile, which I realise now is extremely poor phrasing, so sorry, but if you want to make them something we do do then I’m perfectly open to that idea but I was just caught off guard earlier and really you had no cause to be mad. Because I’ve been feeling like I’ve done something really awful but really this is on you because you’re the one who said it’s only about convenient sex and if you’ve changed your mind about that, you have no right to be angry just because I didn’t get the memo and I’m surprised about – “

“I never said that,” Derek said, cutting across Stiles’ ramble. It was probably a good thing as Stiles was running out of breath. 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“I never said this was just convenient sex.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“When?” Derek asked. 

“Back at the start of all this. When you broke up with Braeden you said it was because she wanted a relationship and you just wanted someone convenient to have sex with and then you asked me over for sex.” 

“I asked you out.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Stiles insisted. “Because asking someone out involved actually going out. It involves going out for a meal, or a movie, or, hell, even coffee. It involves actually spending time with the other person out in public somewhere, not hidden away like you’re ashamed to be seen with the other person.” 

After a moment, Derek said quietly, “You’re ashamed to be seen with me?” 

“What? No. You’re ashamed to be seen with me!” 

“I’m not.” 

Stiles glared at him, “Then why, in all the time we’ve been doing this, have you never wanted to step foot outside your loft? All you’ve ever wanted to do was have sex and eat take out. And yeah, I enjoy that, but it’s a long leap from that to putting candles on the table and threatening people into giving you the nice Italian food.” 

There was a long moment when they just looked at each other. Stiles had been yelling. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been yelling. But now he really looked at Derek. There was a redness to his eyes. He looked like he’d been crying. He never cried. Even after Boyd had died, he hadn’t cried. 

“You never said you wanted any of that,” Derek said quietly. 

“Of course not. You broke up with the last person who told you they wanted a relationship. If I’d said I wanted to go out on real dates you’d have kicked me out of here so fast I’d have whiplash.” 

There was another silence. Stiles felt the space between them like a great chasm. Derek seemed withdrawn, nervous, utterly unlike Derek. 

“I didn’t break up with Braeden,” Derek said quietly. “She broke up with me. She said that I was only with her because she was convenient. _That’s_ what I told you. I didn’t say you were convenient. After Mexico, she said it was clear who I really wanted and that I was just with her because it was easier than facing up to my real feelings. I _told_ you this.” 

“No,” Stiles said. “I mean, yes. I mean. I didn’t... Feelings?” 

“Yes, Stiles.” 

“You... have feelings?” 

Derek closed his eyes. He looked like he was about to cry again. 

Still with his eyes closed, he said, “Yes, Stiles.” 

“You didn’t tell me that.” 

Derek’s eyes shot open. For a moment, he looked at Stiles, fear and pain written on his face. Then he turned away, his whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. 

“You should just leave,” Derek said. 

“What? You can’t say you have feelings for me and then tell me to go.” 

“You’ve made it clear where you stand. We should try to be civil about pack business when we see each other in the future, but you should just go. You can find someone else to give you what you want.” 

There was no way in hell that Stiles was going to walk out of here now, not after what he’d just heard. Derek would have to pick him up and throw him out the window to get him to leave. Stiles was angry again, angry at Derek and at himself. Angry at the thought of all those wasted weeks. 

“Did you ever actually ask me what I want?” Stiles asked. 

Derek still didn’t turn to look at him, but he asked, “What do you want?” 

“I want to actually stay the night for once,” Stiles said, “and I want to eat breakfast with you and find out what you look like in the morning. I want to go out for meals with you at the diner, and the nice Italian place, and everywhere in between. I want to go and watch a terrible movie with you and then spend hours over coffee griping about how terrible it was. I want to go to grocery store and argue about whether you’re eating enough fruit and vegetables. I want to know when your birthday is so I can spend weeks trying to figure out a perfect present. I want to walk down a beach holding hands knowing that if anyone gives us a hard time about it, you’ll pummel them into a paste. I want – “ 

Stiles could probably have kept going all night, but Derek cut him off, saying, “Christmas Day.” 

“What?” 

“My birthday is on Christmas Day.” 

“Wow. Sucks to be you, I guess.” 

Derek turned back to him now, a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth indicating the first stirrings of a smile. 

“If you wanted any of that,” Derek said, “all you had to do was ask.” 

“I was afraid to ask. I didn’t think you wanted a boyfriend. I was afraid that if I asked you, you’d get rid of me and I wouldn’t get to be with you at all.” 

“Stiles, you’ve been my boyfriend for weeks now.” 

“We are really going to have to work on this communicating thing if we’re going to make this work.” 

“Do you want to?” Derek asked. “Make this work, I mean?” 

“Yes. God yes.” 

Derek moved so fast he was almost a blur. Suddenly he was in front of Stiles, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Stiles felt the other hand working its way inside his hoodie, under his t-shirt. A part of Stiles wanted to go with this, but this was what they’d done every Friday night for weeks. He had that whole list of relationship fantasies and he finally had a chance to get something he wanted. 

He pulled away from Derek. 

“Now, none of that,” he said, smiling a little, “I’m in a serious relationship now and that means I don’t put out until at least the third date.” 

“What do you count as a date?” Derek asked. 

“Something that isn’t eating take-out on your couch.” 

“Right,” Derek said. “I guess we’ve got some time to make up for.” 

He went to grab his coat.


	4. Chapter 4

“Everywhere will be booked up,” Derek commented as they walked through the centre of town, past the rose-covered displays. 

“That’s not my fault,” Stiles said. The restaurants that weren’t packed had reserved signs on all the tables. There wasn’t a chance of a meal out tonight. But there was a coffee shop open. There were a few couples scattered about, but it seemed most people thought they needed to do something more than a trip to a coffee shop for a Valentine’s Day date. 

“A coffee shop was on your list of acceptable dates,” Derek said, seeing Stiles looking. Stiles nodded and they headed inside. 

Derek walked straight up to the counter and placed an order for a vanilla latte. 

“Really?” Stiles asked. 

“What?” 

“You just don’t strike me as a vanilla latte sort of person. And this is just more proof that we weren’t actually dating because boyfriends know each other’s coffee orders.” 

The barista returned and Derek calmly said to her, “He’ll take a black Americano as strong as humanly possible.” 

Derek turned to Stiles, a trace of smugness on his face. The barista smirked as she rang up their total. 

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked. 

“He thinks we’ve been dating for a couple of months,” Stiles said, jerking a thumb towards Derek, “but I say it doesn’t count because he’s never actually taken me out anywhere until now.” 

“It doesn’t count unless you spend money,” the barista said. Now it was Stiles’ turn to smirk, having got this complete stranger on his side. Then, of course, Derek had to spoil it all by pointing out that he’d always paid for the take out. 

“Damn it,” Stiles muttered. 

Derek paid for their coffees and they went over to an empty table. 

“This is going to make it difficult to work out when we should celebrate our anniversary,” Stiles commented. 

“Assuming I don’t kill you by then,” Derek said. He took a sip of his coffee. 

“I’ve got a feeling,” Stiles said. 

They sipped their coffees for a bit. 

“You really didn’t think we were together?” Derek asked. 

“No.” Stiles bit down an urge to apologise. It wasn’t like Derek had been particularly obvious about their situation so it really wasn’t his fault. 

“What did you think we were?” 

“I dunno. I thought we had an arrangement.” Stiles made air quotes around the final word. Derek snorted into his coffee. 

“You’re supposed to be smart,” Derek said. “I would have thought you could figure it out.” 

“You know what would have helped me figure it out? You coming up to me and saying, ‘I like you. Do you want to go out on a date sometime?’ or something like that. It’s not like we ever had a conversation except when waiting for the biological batteries to metaphorically recharge. I figured I was just a more life-like alternative to a blow-up doll.” 

Derek glared at him. He set his coffee down with a quiet thump and his hand tightened to a fist as soon as it wasn’t holding something breakable. 

“I would never use someone like that,” Derek said. Stiles could only imagine what thoughts were running through Derek’s head right now. What memories. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quickly, “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t feel used.” 

But Derek was still staring at him, eyes locked on his. He had a look of focus on his face. Then he looked down, eyes falling away, hooding with pain. 

“Yes, you did,” Derek said. “You thought I was using you.” 

“No.” 

“I can hear you lying, Stiles.” 

“No. Not like you’re saying it. I came every time by my own choice, and I realise that was probably a lousy choice of words under the circumstances but it’s true. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t choose to do.” 

“Why would you do that?” Derek asked. “If you honestly thought I didn’t... care about you, why would you let yourself be used like that?” 

“I thought it was all I could get.” 

Derek was giving him another long, serious look. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I shouldn’t have let you feel that. You don’t deserve that. No one deserves that.” 

Stiles didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to just take that apology and wrap it around himself like a blanket, but the ache of the last few weeks still stung. All those moments of hurt when he’d thought he was never going to get anything more real. He knew Derek hadn’t meant to make him feel those things, but he’d still felt them. But he couldn’t feel too angry at Derek because Stiles knew he’d made Derek feel some of those exact same things today. So, for once in his life, Stiles was unsure of what to say. 

He sipped at his coffee. 

“I’m not a romantic sort of person,” Derek said. “I’m never going to be one for flowers and stuff, and I’m not good with words. But just because I don’t know how to say something doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.” 

Stiles stared into the dark depths of his coffee. 

“I talk a lot,” he said. That earned a snort from Derek. 

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

“I talk a lot,” Stiles said again, tone firmer, “but there are things that are difficult to say because...” 

“Because they leave you vulnerable,” Derek finished for him. “It’s easier to roll your eyes and say something sarcastic than to say something real.” 

Stiles nodded. He could joke and make sarcastic comebacks until he ran out of breath, but actually putting into words how he felt about Derek was another matter entirely. All those fears formed a barrier. If he said it, if he put the words out there, then someone else could trample on them, cast them aside, use them as a weapon against him. Looking at Derek now, Stiles felt a moment of silent understanding. Stiles felt all that and he wasn’t the one who’d been used by a mass-murderer who’d claimed to love him. No wonder Derek hadn’t been able to say explicitly what he wanted when he’d started all this. 

And Stiles had been too wrapped up in his own issues of self-doubt to see it. 

Stiles reached across the table and covered Derek’s hand with his own. 

***

“So what else was on your list?” Derek asked as they left the coffee shop half an hour later. “Walk around holding hands and beat up anyone who makes a fuss?” 

“Technically, it was walk down a beach holding hands.” 

Derek gave him a severe look, “We’re not driving to a beach. It would take hours.” 

“Correction: we’re not driving to a beach today.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. He held out a hand. 

“There’s the park,” he said. 

Stiles made a point of looking like he was thinking this over, deciding whether or not this met his exacting criteria. Derek rolled his eyes again. Stiles wondered if he could make a game of trying to get Derek to roll his eyes right out of their sockets. Instead, he reached out and took Derek’s hand and they started walking slowly towards the park. 

They didn’t talk at first. They just walked, Derek’s hand strong and warm around his own. It was a comfortable silence, passing the world and the other couples and all the pink and saccharine Valentine’s displays. A couple of guys did give them a critical look, but they were cowed by one of Derek’s fiercer glares. 

“Why did this take us so long?” Stiles asked as they walked into the park. It was fairly quiet at this time of the evening, but there were a couple of joggers working their way around the path, a couple cuddled beneath an oak tree, a group of teens were hanging out on the grass. Stiles and Derek started a slow stroll around the path. 

“Because you’re oblivious,” Derek said. 

“So this is back to being my fault?” 

“If you wanted walks in the park or meals out, all you had to do was ask.” 

“You could have offered. You could have made a bit of effort to be a bit more boyfriendy.” 

“I got candles.” 

“Which was an act so unexpected and out of character that I actually considered mind-altering magic as a possible cause.” 

“Really?” 

“It was up there with the possibility of you getting a Valentine’s Day date with someone else.” 

“You thought me wanting a date with someone else was higher on the list of possibilities than me wanting a date with you?” 

“Well... yeah... I mean, look at you.” Stiles waved a hand in Derek’s general direction, indicating his toned body, his stubbly, chiselled face, his whole being. 

“What’s wrong with me?” Derek asked. 

“Nothing. That’s the thing. You look like a swimwear model. You could have anyone in the world. Why would you ever want to date someone like me?” 

“Someone like you?” Derek echoed. “Someone who’ll hold me up in a swimming pool for hours? Someone who is caring enough to put his life on the line for his friends on a regular basis? Someone who’s smart and funny and who’ll take no shit from anyone? No, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to date someone like that.” 

Stiles’ feet faltered, tripping over nothing. He came to a halt on the path, but his hand was still clutched in Derek’s. Derek had no choice but to stop walking and turn back to look at him. 

“You really think that about me?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes,” Derek said quietly. 

“How long have you felt like that?” 

“Since the swimming pool. You dropped me to the bottom of the pool and then you came back down for me. I realised in that moment that I’d never doubted it. I knew you wouldn’t let me die because that just wasn’t the sort of person you were. Even though you hated me and were still afraid of me, I knew you’d come back to save me.” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything? I had a thing for you for the longest time and you must have been able to tell, Mr Super Heightened Werewolf Senses.” 

Derek turned and started walking again. Stiles had to walk beside him because their hands were still firmly linked. Derek didn’t look at him when he spoke. 

“I knew you were attracted to me,” Derek said. “I could smell your lust sometimes. But you hated me and I wanted something real. I didn’t want this to be just about sex.” 

Stiles felt a chill at that. He’d used those exact words tonight, unknowingly echoing Derek’s worst fears. That sick feeling of guilt was back in his stomach for hurting Derek like that, even unintentionally. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. Derek’s hand tightened a little over his. 

“I’m sorry I let you think it was just sex,” Derek echoed. 

By now they had looped around the edge of the park. The place wasn’t all that big. So far, there had been no excuse for Derek to beat anyone up, but that should probably be classed as a good thing. As they reached the park gates again, Derek slowed, looking awkward. 

“What now?” he asked. 

Stiles considered, “I’m getting a bit hungry.” 

“The restaurants will be packed.” 

“Well, we never did eat the food you got. It would be a shame to let food you threatened people to get go to waste.” 

“I thought you said that didn’t count as a date,” Derek said. 

Stiles thought about this. He still stood by his earlier statements, but it was obvious that Derek had put thought and effort into his plans for tonight. “It counts if there are candles.” 

“Ah,” said Derek. 

“What ‘ah’?” 

“I may have broken the candles after you left.” 

“You broke the candles?” 

“I was upset.” 

Stiles knew he shouldn’t laugh at the mental image of Derek throwing candles around in a fit of emotion. He knew it would be incredibly mean to laugh. Which was why he tried to keep his mouth pressed shut and the laughter emerged as a strange snorting noise. 

Derek gave him a concerned look. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “Come on. Let’s buy more candles.” 

***

They went to the grocery store and Stiles grabbed a basket, thrusting it towards Derek. 

“How many candles are you planning on buying?” Derek asked. 

“It’s not just candles. I know the state of your cupboards.” 

Stiles started walking around the shop, stopping strategically at shelves and pulling items out to put into the basket. Pretty soon there was a nice collection growing: flour, eggs, syrup, bacon, fruit, juice, fresh milk. Derek carried the basket and kept shooting Stiles confused looks. 

“Are you planning on cooking?” Derek asked. 

“Yep.” 

“But I got us food.” 

“You got us dinner. This is for breakfast.” 

“That’s very presumptuous,” Derek said. “You’re just automatically assuming I’m going to invite you to stay over?” 

Stiles was holding a loaf of bread. He nearly crushed it to death as he heard those words, all the fears from earlier rushing back. What if he was pushing things? What if he was moving too fast? What if Derek didn’t actually want any of this and decided to get rid of him? What if when Stiles thought he was being cute, he was just being annoying? 

“You know what would be really presumptuous?” Derek asked. 

“What?” Stiles asked, genuinely afraid of what the answer might be. 

“If you put a toothbrush in the basket so you’d always have a spare if you wanted to stay over at my place.” 

In a heartbeat, those fears were gone. A toothbrush was such a tiny thing, but there was so much meaning behind that little invitation. If Stiles had a toothbrush of his own at Derek’s place then it was almost an open invitation to staying the night. It meant Derek wanted him to stay the night often enough to warrant it. 

“Do you want me to get a toothbrush?” Stiles asked. 

Now it was Derek’s turn to look scared. 

“If you want to,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to. It’s just... only if that what you want.” 

Stiles was beginning to suspect that, “only if you want,” was Derek’s way of saying that he really, really wanted this. Stiles moved to the aisle with the hygiene products. There wasn’t much of a range, but he found a red, plastic toothbrush and tossed it into the basket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the last chapter of this on Saturday, so it's time to think about what my next fic will be. I think it will either be magical Stiles (with Stilinski family feels, knitting, and vengeful plants), or the Behind the Mask sequel (where Stiles gets hit with an amnesia spell at the worst possible moment and is convinced Derek is an evil rapist). I do have a couple of other ideas though. 
> 
> I have an idea for a fic where Stiles gets an internship in London, where Derek is hiding out after his family's murders. They meet when Stiles keeps almost falling over on Derek on a crowded tube train and Derek can't stand this clumsy kid who stinks of lust. The problem with this fic is that I haven't the faintest idea where the plot is going. 
> 
> I also have another amnesia idea. Aside from his name, the first thing Stiles remembers clearly is waking up in the woods covered in blood next to a dead body. He's pretty sure he's done something awful because he has nightmares every night, and now he learns that some guy called Argent is willing to pay quarter of a million dollars for his capture. 
> 
> Any thoughts on which I should write next?


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles put the purchases away while Derek decoded the mysteries of his oven and put the food in to heat up. Then Stiles laid the table again, setting out the plates and cutlery, as well as, of course, the candles. By the time he was done, it all looked very civilised, at least by their standards. Derek brought the food out of the oven and soon they sat at the table, tucking into their pasta, which was definitely nicer than their usual fare. 

“So,” Derek said as they ate, “you’re planning on staying the night?” 

“If you’re OK with that,” Stiles answered. He twirled his pasta nervously around with his fork as he waited for a reply. He was feeling nervous about it again. He hadn’t actually discussed this with Derek, just made the decision. What if Derek didn’t like Stiles just inviting himself over? 

“I just thought you were going to wait until the third date before... doing anything.” 

“Well, we had coffee, we had the walk, and now we’re having dinner.” Stiles counted the three off on his fingers. 

“Does that really count?” Derek asked. 

“Well, if you don’t want to have sex tonight, we don’t have to.” 

“Three dates. We have definitely had three dates.” 

Stiles smirked into his pasta. Then a thought occurred to him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. That earned a frown from Derek. 

“Don’t worry,” Stiles said. “Just letting my dad know not to expect me home.” 

He typed a quick text to that effect and then turned off his phone. He set it down on the table, screen dark, so it was obvious they weren’t going to get any interruptions. Far from looking pleased about this, Derek looked concerned. 

“He’s not going to kill me for this, is he?” 

“No. At least, he’s promised not to shoot you with a shotgun loaded with wolfsbane.” 

That had the opposite effect Stiles had anticipated. Derek looked more worried. 

“He actually made that specific promise?” he asked. 

“Yeah. To be fair, I don’t think he plans to kill you in any other way.” 

“But why would he make that promise at all? Does he know?” Derek looked more scared that Stiles had ever seen him. “Oh god, your dad knows we’ve been having sex.” 

“Of course he knows. He is a police officer. Detecting things is kinda in his job description.” 

“I’m going to jail.” 

“Derek, you’re not going to jail.” 

“No, you’re right. Your dad is going to murder me and bury me somewhere my body won’t be found for a thousand years.” 

“Derek, you’re being ridiculous. You didn’t look this scared facing kanimas or alphas or druids or anything else. Why are you so scared now?” 

“Because your dad knows I’m having sex with his underage son!” 

“But why are you panicking now? He hasn’t killed you yet, has he?” 

Derek went paler. Stiles hadn’t thought that was even possible. 

“You mean he’s known all along that we’ve been having sex?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. “Oh god. How am I still alive? I always thought one of the reasons you went home straight afterwards was so that your dad didn’t figure things out and I never pushed for you to stay because I was worried about what would happen when he did find out and I figured certain things could wait until after you turned eighteen and...” 

“Derek, you’re babbling like me. Calm down.” 

Stiles reached across the table to take Derek’s hand. Derek calmed a little. He let his fingers join with Stiles’. He looked up over their meal and met Stiles’ eyes. 

“If your dad already knows,” he said, “that means he thinks I’ve been using you for sex. You’re right. Your dad’s not going to murder me. He’s going to castrate me. I need to go talk to him and set things straight.” 

Derek started to stand. Stiles decided that if Derek was acting panicky and babbly and far too much like Stiles, maybe it was time for Stiles to try acting like Derek. Stiles glared at Derek across the table and tried to do the fearsome thing with the eyebrows that Derek did so well. 

“Are you OK?” Derek asked. “You look like you’re in pain.” 

“I’m trying to glare at you about the fact you think it’s reasonable to get up in the middle of our date to go and talk to my dad. It’s not reasonable, by the way. And you are being completely irrational. My dad is not going to kill you or castrate you or anything. In fact, when I went home all upset after our fight earlier, my dad’s the one who said I should come back and try to sort things out with you.” 

Derek sank back into his seat again. 

“Your dad actually said that?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said. “The thing you just need to understand is that my dad just wants to me to be happy. As long as you make me happy, you will remain safe. If you cheat on me or abuse me or something like that, that’s when you need to worry about the fate of your balls but to be fair, you probably need to worry about me more than my dad.” 

“That’s never going to happen,” Derek said. 

“You don’t think I’d be able to castrate you?” 

Derek laughed. It was a small noise, but it was a release of the tension that had been building during this conversation. 

“I meant,” Derek said, “that me cheating on you or abusing you isn’t going to happen. I think you’re probably perfectly capable of castrating me.” 

“Well good. I think.” 

There was a moment of silence as they both got back to their dinners. Then Stiles started laughing at the thought of how absurd it was that he’d basically just threatened to castrate his boyfriend during their date. Then he realised he’d just thought of Derek as his boyfriend. And that’s when he started choking on his pasta. 

Derek was round the table in a heartbeat, whacking Stiles on the back until he started breathing. 

“Ow,” Stiles protested, once he could breathe again. “Werewolf strength.” 

“Sorry,” Derek said. It probably hadn’t helped that Derek had whacked the part of Stiles’ back that he’d bashed against the stairs earlier in the day. Stiles was probably going to end up with interesting bruising. He should probably make sure his dad never saw or Derek might have to worry about castration after all. 

“I can’t believe we’ve been talking about castration on our date,” Stiles said. 

“I can’t believe you told your dad about us.” 

“We should just make a rule not to make any more assumptions about us. Ever. Any time we start to make an assumption, we say what we’re thinking and get it out there to prevent any more painful mistakes. Agreed?” 

“I’m assuming,” Derek said, “that I should kiss you now.” 

“You assume correctly,” Stiles said, grinning. He was still sitting at the table, so Derek bent down and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was slow and soft and tender. Then Derek pulled away, smiling a little. 

“I’m assuming,” Derek continued, “that you want me to take my shirt off.” 

“Good assumption,” Stiles said. Derek lifted his shirt over his head, revealing that muscled torso with those glorious abs. Stiles reached out and ran his fingers over Derek’s stomach. 

“I’m assuming,” Derek said, “that we should move this to the bed.” 

“I’m assuming that you’re going to stop being an ass so we can actually have sex.” 

“If you insist.” 

Stiles stood up, put his arms around Derek, and kissed him again. The kiss felt slightly different to normal and it took Stiles a moment to work out why. They were both grinning. They were kissing and smiling at the same time. He’d always enjoyed sex with Derek but something about this time felt different and it was written in the very position of their lips as they kissed. The realisation made Stiles smile more. 

They made their way over to the bed, still kissing. Once they got there, Stiles moved to yank his shirt off, but Derek caught his wrists gently. 

“Not so fast,” Derek said. “We’ve got all night.” 

With a soft nudge of his hands, he urged Stiles down to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched in front of him and took hold of the hem of Stiles’ t-shirt. He inched it upwards, slowly, kissing the skin as it was exposed. He moved back and forth, kissing at different points as more and more of Stiles’ torso was revealed. It took Stiles a moment to realise what was going on. 

“Are you kissing my moles?” Stiles asked. 

Derek grinned, “Every last one.” Then the grin froze. “Unless you think that’s weird?” 

Stiles bit back a laugh, “Just don’t start playing connect the dots with them. I’ve no idea what sort of picture they’ll draw.” 

“That gives me an idea,” Derek said. 

He stood and walked away from the bed, leaving Stiles sitting there on the edge. Stiles’ t-shirt fell back down over his stomach. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. 

Derek ignored him. He went over to the kitchen area of the loft, opening up one of the cupboards. He took something out of the cupboard and then turned back to Stiles, hiding the something behind his back. 

“It’s rude to walk away in the middle of kissing someone’s moles,” Stiles complained. 

“It’ll be worth it,” Derek said. He came back to crouch by Stiles again, still hiding whatever it was he’d taken from the cupboard. When Stiles tried to lean round to look, Derek shoved it under the bed. Stiles pouted. 

“Wait and see,” Derek said. He raised himself up to kiss Stiles on the lips and then got back to what he’d been doing before. He started undressing Stiles again, slowly exposing skin and kissing all those moles, every mark and blemish on Stiles’ skin, pressing love to each imperfection. He eased the t-shirt up, every move slow, as though he wanted this to last forever. Stiles closed his eyes and just lost himself in the sensation of Derek exploring his skin. 

When the t-shirt was at last removed, Derek unfastened Stiles’ pants, easing them down just as slowly, pressing kisses down Stiles’ thighs, his shins, down to his feet. Every part of Stiles’ body was kissed and adored, each touch stirring the building pot of anticipation inside Stiles. When Derek rid Stiles of his clothes, he worked his way back up with his hands, brushing strong fingers up his limbs, over his stomach and chest, until they cupped Stiles’ neck. Then they pulled him in for another kiss, as painfully slow as the undressing. Stiles burned with a need for more, for faster, but another part of him wanted to draw this out, to make this tender moment stretch into eternity. 

Derek shed his own clothes much more quickly and then he urged Stiles back onto the bed. As Stiles repositioned himself on the bed, lying there in the middle, Derek reached under the bed and pulled out the squeezy bottle of syrup that Stiles had picked up at the store. With another grin, Derek popped the cap open and squirted a line across Stiles’ chest, between his nipples. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. 

“Playing connect the dots,” Derek grinned. He drew lines in syrup across Stiles’ torso, joining up the more prominent moles. Stiles started laughing, disrupting Derek’s artwork. 

When Derek had criss-crossed Stiles’ torso enough, he ran his tongue along the lines he’d drawn, licking up the syrup. He danced his tongue around Stiles’ nipples, licking and sucking until Stiles squirmed under the sensations, torn between laughter and arousal. Derek brought his lips to Stiles’ for a kiss that was pure sweetness. Stiles combed his fingers through Derek’s hair as they kissed.

When Derek drew away from Stiles mouth again, he knelt astride Stiles’ legs and let a dribble of syrup out onto Stiles’ balls. 

“Finally getting somewhere good,” Stiles muttered. Derek chuckled, even as he set to work with his tongue, licking off the stickiness he’d just applied. Stiles squirmed against the mattress, clawing the covers with his hands, under the assault from Derek’s tongue. He was still going too slowly. Stiles felt like he’d been hard forever, but Derek was avoiding the shaft, playing his tongue against Stiles’ balls but not giving him what he needed to come. 

He was close now. His back arched a little on the bed, trying to get some friction, some something. As Derek pulled away, Stiles gave a voiceless moan of protest. But Derek didn’t go far. He grabbed a different bottle this time and squirted some lube into his hand, slicking up Stiles’ aching member. His touch was too gentle. 

Derek smiled down at him and positioned himself carefully. Stiles was achingly hard, feeling like he was about to burst, as Derek lowered his ass down over Stiles’ erection. Finally, there was the contact Stiles needed. He made a noise in his throat that was almost animal, and Derek echoed it, thrusting down over Stiles, angling his body for his own pleasure. 

Derek kept his movements slow, but Stiles was having none of that. He was ready. He was more than ready. He thrust his hips under Derek, increasing the pace, driving to his desperate climax. 

That was enough to send Derek over the edge, splattering Stiles’ chest with streams of cum. Then they collapsed together on the bed, side-by-side. Stiles lay they, sticky from syrup and sex. 

“You know I’ll be thinking of this every time I have pancakes, don’t you?” Stiles said. 

“Yep,” Derek said. 

“Next time, I get to eat stuff off you.” 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling him so that Stiles was lying half on top of Derek’s chest. Derek kissed his hair. 

“OK,” Derek said. 

Stiles could feel the movement of Derek’s chest with every breath, feel his arms as warm comfort. This felt different from every other time he’d been here because Stiles wasn’t already thinking about having to go home. 

“Derek,” he said quietly. “You know those feelings we’re too scared to talk about?” 

“Yeah?” Derek said. 

“Well... those.” 

“You too,” Derek said. And he kissed Stiles’ hair again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I find that asking for votes on what fic to write ends up with enthusiasts for all the options. There were a lot of votes for magical Stiles though and a couple of people have pointed out that that one's been an option before and been pre-empted by other stories, so maybe its time has come. Plus, that story would let me write Derek losing a fight to a shrubbery. 
> 
> So the next story will be magical Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

The disorientation woke Stiles. Something unfamiliar about his situation wormed into his sleeping brain and forced him to wake up, apprehensive and confused. It took him a moment to work out where he was. Apparently that moment was enough for him to tense up or his heartrate to increase or something else which somehow woke Derek. Suddenly there was a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, “you OK?” 

Stiles turned over so he could look Derek in the eye. He smiled. 

“I’m fine. Just surprised to be waking up in someone else’s bed.” 

He pressed a quick kiss to Derek’s mouth, lips closed. He kept it to a simple, chaste kiss, because neither of them needed to deal with morning breath. Then he slipped out from under the covers. Derek started to move too. 

“No,” Stiles said, “you stay in bed.” 

Stiles went over to the kitchen area. The advantage of the loft being one big room was that he could still see Derek. The disadvantage was that it rather undid the surprise of making breakfast in bed. Stiles opened up the cupboards and got out all the stuff he’d insisted on buying the night before. He set to work whipping up bacon, eggs and pancakes, which was a logistical nightmare because Derek didn’t have enough pans to cook anything. 

“I could get used to this,” Derek said, from where he was now sitting up in bed, watching Stiles work. They were both still completely naked, but Stiles had no desire to cover up, though he did wonder if that would turn out to be a poor choice if the bacon fat started to spit. 

“Only if you stock your kitchen with actual cooking implements,” Stiles said. He was rummaging in drawers. “Do you have a spatula? Anywhere?” 

“Um... probably not.” 

“Right... Mangled pancakes it is.” 

Stiles managed to manoeuvre everything out of the pan and onto a plate. It was ridiculous really that Derek didn’t own a spatula. It wasn’t like Stiles was asking for some weird and specialist cooking implement. But the food was cooked despite the challenge, even if the process of getting it out onto a plate left the presentation somewhat substandard. 

Stiles grabbed a couple of forks and went back to the bed, a single plate between them. They sat there, pressed shoulder to shoulder, eating the food Stiles had cooked. 

“How long have you wanted to do this?” Derek asked. “Cook breakfast for me, I mean?” 

“Since the second time we had sex,” Stiles answered. 

“That’s a very long wait for breakfast.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sor-“ Derek started. Stiles planted a kiss on Derek’s lips to shut him up. Derek gave him a puzzled look. 

“We have both apologised what feels like a hundred times over the whole not-talking-about-what-we’re-actually-doing thing,” Stiles said. “We need to accept that it was a monumental screw up and move on and just promise to do better in future. So I’m declaring an end to the apologies. If you try to apologise anymore, I will shut you up.” 

“By kissing me?” 

“By any means necessary.” 

Stiles speared another bit of bacon with his fork to continue eating, but Derek was still looking at him thoughtfully. Maybe it was the mess of the night before, but just the sight of Derek looking thoughtful was enough to make Stiles feel nervous. 

“What?” Stiles asked around his mouthful of bacon. 

“If you’ll kiss me to stop me from saying sorry,” Derek said, “what would you do if I threw myself on my knees and started begging for forgiveness?” 

Those little flutters of nerves fluttered their way right out of the window. Derek was teasing him. Stiles returned the grin. 

“Well,” Stiles said, “I suppose I’d have to do something pretty drastic. Something that rendered you completely incapable of speech.” 

“Completely incapable?” 

“In the short term anyway.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, I’m not sure. I guess I’d have to experiment to find the most effective way of rendering you incoherent. And experiments should be rigorous for them to be scientifically valid. You know, multiple data points, repeatability.” 

“If you come to bed with a clipboard to start taking notes,” Derek said, “I will whack you on the ass with it.” 

“But think of the fantasy possibilities,” Stiles said. “Me as the sexy doctor. You as the werewolf who needs help with his uncontrollable animal urges. You would be all out of control with lust and I would have to discipline you. Or maybe you’d overpower me and have you wicked way with me.” 

Stiles nibbled a little on Derek’s earlobe as he whispered the fantasy idea. He was grinning, only partly joking. They hadn’t really talked about role play or fantasies or anything much. Stiles hadn’t wanted to risk anything by making suggestions that Derek might not like. 

“Is this what it’s going to be like being your boyfriend?” Derek asked. 

“Yep.” Stiles nibbled on Derek’s ear again. 

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and spun him a little, pressing him down onto the pillows. In the same, fluid movement, he moved astride Stiles. 

Unfortunately, they’d both forgotten the plate. It got dislodged in the process and fell to the floor beside the bed with a crash. Stiles winced at the noise. It wasn’t like Derek had an overabundance of kitchenware in the first place. 

“OK, our next date is going to be to the homeware store,” Stiles said. “You need more plates, and you are seriously lacking in basic kitchen utensils, and it wouldn’t kill you to add some colour around this place. A few rugs. I would say curtains but I don’t think there’s enough fabric in the world to cover those windows.” 

Derek was giving Stiles a serious look. Stiles wondered if he’d gone too far and fell silent. 

“Did you seriously go from talking about sexual fantasies to mentally redecorating my apartment?” Derek asked. 

“Erm... maybe?” 

“I guess this proves it,” said Derek. 

“What?” 

“We’re officially a couple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic. A little shorter and a little less plot than my usual stories, but hopefully fun. Happy Valentine's Day. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's commented or left kudos. That's always appreciated. 
> 
> The next fic will be the magical Stiles one - which really needs a better name.


End file.
